


Kings Bearing Gifts

by goldenteaset



Category: Fate/Grand Order, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms
Genre: Christmas Fluff, F/M, Festive flirting, Hurt/Comfort, Ironic Christmas Presents, Pre-Relationship, Set during Christmas In the Underworld, Sickfic, Tsunderes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-24 16:34:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21961009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldenteaset/pseuds/goldenteaset
Summary: "She starts, her muscles groaning at the abrupt movement. “Some…one…?” Her voice barely qualifies as a croak.“Ah, I see you are very wise as well, lying low.” Caster Gilgamesh doesn’t sound much better—like the hinges of an oak door that haven’t been greased in decades. “In any event, I come bearing gifts!”That ismyjob."Sumerian Summer Fever may be miserable, but at least Santa Alter and Caster Gilgamesh can suffer together.
Relationships: Gilgamesh | Archer/Artoria Pendragon | Saber, Gilgamesh | Caster/Artoria Pendragon | Santa Alter
Comments: 17
Kudos: 82





	Kings Bearing Gifts

**Author's Note:**

> The one thing this Christmas event lacked was a resolution to Santa Alter and CasGil's clear desire to give and receive presents respectively, so I decided to provide. Happy Holidays, everyone! :D
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own FGO.

It would be easier just to toss a Craft Essence many years past its prime at the King of Magic Wands and be done with it. That is Santa Alter’s usual M.O. However…she finds herself dithering the whole year instead.

Days tick by, with ideas for presents discarded as soon as they’re dreamt up. Each time she looks his way, fights alongside him, or recalls the Singularity she first met him in—she finds new strengths in her fellow King. And strength is something to be rewarded. Hasn’t she said so herself?

So she plots some more, determined to at least think of _something_ before her favorite time of year runs its course.

\---

…Unfortunately, this Christmas is more of a crisis. The heat wave churning through Chaldea has yet to abate; in fact it’s grown ever worse. Sweat clings to her sheer leggings like too much frosting on a cookie, and her dress that is more often too chilly now feels like a woolen cage. Still, she refuses to strip.

Not even in Master’s room? Of course not. The Dark Santa of Britain has standards to maintain. (Even when those standards are causing half the problem.)

And so she, Santa Lily and Fou lie sprawled out on the floor together, heads swimming with fever and their limbs heavy as if Llamrei Mk. II rests on their person. Sleep offers little reprieve. The horrible, cloying heat seeps everywhere—even in dreams.

Dimly, she thinks she hears voices. The cold tingle of Magecraft dances off her sweat-drenched skin—hardly enough to take the edge off her fever. And yet…perhaps it’s a sign of hope.

Things grow quiet again, and she concentrates on trying to rest. Inhale. Exhale. Feel the raw chafing in her lungs. It’s a struggle not to think of cold air whipping past her face as continents rush by in blankets of white or pale brown.

_Click-click. Hiss._

She starts, her muscles groaning at the abrupt movement. “Some…one…?” Her voice barely qualifies as a croak.

“Ah, I see you are very wise as well, lying low.” Caster Gilgamesh doesn’t sound much better—like the hinges of an oak door that haven’t been greased in decades. “In any event, I come bearing gifts!” 

_That is_ my _job._ Harsh coughs wrack her body, burning her lungs.

“…You can barely open your eyes, hmm. I nearly arrived too late!” Caster grunts as he sets something down—something cool and hard as glass, wrapped in what smells like the earthy musk of sheepskin. “One for you…and another for this little one here…”

Whatever he’s giving them, it cools her head and eases the headache battering at her skull. However, opening her eyes is still an impossible task. “Thank…” she whispers, hoping he can hear it.

“Humph. I expect due compensation once we’ve recovered!” The room vibrates as Caster Gilgamesh _thuds_ to the floor like a felled pine tree, his energy spent. "Yes...from every...mongrel..."

 _Every_ mongrel? _Could that be true? Perhaps._ Santa Alter wonders how long he spent tending to the other Servants like this. Did he walk through the halls, his eyes struggling futilely to remain open, awaiting the moment he could collapse? Or were his eyes peeled for one specific person?

...No. If he's in as miserable a state as she is, his muscles turned to water long before his pride did. This was just his last gasp. 

He isn’t that far away—she can feel the heat rolling off his body, colliding with hers. Normally she would find that an issue, but right now…it’s a little comforting. Somewhat. Not that she will ever admit it.

 _At least my head feels a bit clearer now._ As weariness seeps like mud into her bones, she once again considers what to give the King of Uruk. _He has no need to learn kindness, as he already aids us in battle…what about something to aid_ him _? That could have potential…_

At last, she rests, and dreams of the crispiest turkey she has ever tasted, that melts in her mouth.

\---

On Christmas day, when no one else is roaming the halls but a specific person…Santa Alter makes her move.

“Little Caster Gilgamesh!”

She approves of how quickly he evades her oncoming sleigh, flattening against the wall like uncooked dough. “‘Little’?!” His eyes are charmingly bright when incensed. “I _tower_ over you!”

“Be that as it may, it’s custom.” She alights from her sleigh, swinging her bag from her shoulder and letting it _thump_ on the floor in a most satisfactory manner. “Speaking of customs…ahem. Ho ho ho, I come bearing gifts!”

At first, Caster Gilgamesh doesn’t seem to understand. Then his eyes widen, and a grin blossoms forth as vibrantly as any child’s. “Oh— _oh_ —ahem. A moment.” He summons a golden throne from an equally gaudy portal, affecting an air of crossed-leg casualness that _would_ succeed if not for the faint trembling of his feet. “Now, then. Offer up your tribute, Dark Santa!”

Rather than remark about how that throne clashes horribly with the silvery walls around them, Santa Alter shrugs and rummages through her sack. “Hmm…let me see, where was it?”

She knows precisely where it is. It’s just amusing to make him sweat.

“What will it be, I wonder. Jewels? A copy of Excalibur? Or perhaps…no. No, that must come later, after a candlelit tour of Uruk!” It seems even as he’s matured in some ways, his wild fancies can get the better of him.

(She might go if he offered her food during the tour, though.)

“I spent all year thinking of the perfect gift for you,” she admits, just to watch him squirm with gleeful impatience. “I hope it brings you joy.”

“Anything from you would be a treasure worth keeping.” Honesty is plain in his face, his tone low and honey-sweet. His gauntleted fingers twitch as if he yearns to reach for something.

Santa Alter does not blush, nor pause. She merely…considers. “—Ah-ha, here it is.” With a flourish, she pulls out the Craft Essence and tosses it onto his lap.

Wincing at the weight of it, he examines it from every angle, running a finger along the spine thoughtfully. Then he lifts his head and blinks at her. “…A spell tome?”

“Of course.” She smirks and tries to cover the mirth in her voice with stoic professionalism. “Even with all of Uruk behind you, your attacks are often lacking. This may help you create more than a stiff breeze.”

Stony silence meets her comments; he appears to have forgotten how to speak. Or perhaps he’s still processing the insult?

Whatever it is, she has no time for delays. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

“—A moment, Dark Santa!”

She stops with one foot already on the sleigh, glancing over her shoulder. “What now?”

The throne vanishes, backlighting Caster Gilgamesh in gold and shadow. “I hear that mongrel often accompanies you as your beast of burden. As King, I of course cannot offer similar services.” He rests a hand on the smooth slope of his hip, where the strange blue wrap beneath his gaping trousers ostensibly keeps his modesty intact. “However…Santa _does_ have someone to return home to, does she not? Someone to offer her hot chocolate and butter cake still hot from the oven?”

“…Butter…cake, you say?” She eyes stray from his face only a little.

“Indeed,” he purrs. “If you wish, it will be awaiting you in your quarters tonight.”

There must be more to this. It’s too simple for a man like him. “And where will _you_ be?”

“Why, wherever you would have me!”

That straightforward yet soft-spoken answer sends a familiar heat up Santa Alter’s spine to her nape—and try as she might, she can’t pretend it’s the Sumerian Summer Fever this time. Perhaps that’s a good thing.

“Very well.” She hops into her sleigh, settling into the cushioned seat. “You and the butter cake will be in my quarters by nine o’ clock. Is that fair?”

“Oh, considerably.” Laughing softly, he cradles the spell tome as if he actually intends to cherish it. “Until then, I shall partake in some light reading!”

With a satisfied nod, Santa Alter snaps the reins and sets off for breakfast. Now that the fever has been sweated out and Christmas is in full-swing, holiday cheer is blazing merrily in her hardened heart. Who knows? Perhaps that butter cake will be worth the wait. And Caster Gilgamesh’s company as well.

(And perhaps— _perhaps_ —she will find room for a second Reindeer after all.)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! :D Feedback is appreciated.


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